I didn't realise how much things had really changed until the policewoman locked the doors on me when she went into the service station. Up until then, she had been friendly to the point of offering to get me Haribo (because that is obviously every 17 year old's ultimate aim in life). When she got back in the car, she carried on talking to me exactly the same. But it was that seven minute stop with the keys out of the ignition and on the wrong side of a locked door that slapped me in the face with the shock that comes when you are ignoring something blatantly obvious. My family didn't want me. I was leaving everything I had known up until that point. I was technically a criminal. None of that actually interrupted the stream of consciousness which had been distracting me since last Thursday until I heard the doors beep locked.
Expectations are there for a reason, and I have always hated being trapped. I guess both of those things are the reason that as soon as she was close enough to the car to unlock it again, I jumped and ran. They caught me, but not before I had punched one in the stomach and slammed my palm into the base of another one's nose.
There weren't any more offers of Haribo after that.
YOU ARE READING
Dregs
Teen FictionJas is 17. She has short blonde hair and blue eyes. She's lived in London all her life. She isn't afraid. And everything you've read is already a lie.
